Endless Rivalry
by EndlessMidnightSky
Summary: Wrath and Chaos. Two metaphysical beings take up the challenge of mortality. Born and reborn over and over, this is their story through the ages. How they influenced those around them and maybe... How those around them came to influence them.
1. Prologue

**Endless Rivalry: Prologue**

**Okay, this story began with my friend and I on skype. Our school did a production of Romeo and Juliet and she played Tybalt while I played Mercutio. After the production was over, we were talking about our characters and random stuff and out of it all this story was stemmed. I won't reveal any more as it would spoil the story. **

**I hope you enjoy this. It's quite experimental and I have no idea how far it will go (although I WILL finish it).**

**Disclaimer: Wrath and Chaos are mine (although strictly speaking, Wrath is my friend's) and the other characters who come in later are not.**

* * *

Where it all began is lost, and in truth it is highly possible that there was no true origin. Time, after all, is relative, and to a being that is endless and constant; time is irrelevant and hardly an important factor.

The fact of the matter was, time isn't as fixed as many people had grown to think it was. It could be bent, shaped and distorted without much difficulty if you knew what you were doing.

Chaos knew exactly what it was doing.

Wrath too, though it preferred to reap the benefits of what Chaos created and extend them further rather than make them itself. Chaos, however, revelled in twisting and manipulating. Time and space were putty to be played and toyed with.

The two beings were continually at war with each other, yet their combined actions caused far more damage than either one could do alone. In their battles, they fought to outdo the other, to destroy their adversary and yet never succeeding. After all, what is the point of a war if there is no opposing side?

Their rivalry was endless. It had no beginning and it would have no end. For what were Wrath and Chaos? but ideas and metaphysical beings. An idea can't be killed. A thought can't be unthought.

The Universe shaped and reshaped itself around them and their battles, creating light and darkness, life and death. But it all ended after its time was done. Stars died. Galaxies fell apart. Even the black holes which Chaos had created so gleefully eventually collapsed in on themselves to make way for the new.

Chaos filtered trough every aspect of reality with Wrath twisted through it, filling minds, ideas and actions with irrational decisions. Seeds that could not be uprooted grew until whole worlds were in turmoil. Chaos looked down on the beings and laughed while Wrath added anger and hatred to hearts and souls.

Their battles raged across the stars. Galaxies became war grounds. Solar systems and planets destroyed as collateral damage. They cared not. Why should they? Damage was chaos, the anger and vengeance that came from the survivors was wrath.

In a recent battle, Wrath hurled Chaos at a tiny, seemingly insignificant ball of rock orbiting a non-descript star with several other planets of varying origins the planet and the other being had struck the ground a devastating blow. Chaos immediately returned to the war and so it was not until later that they noticed how much damage the blow had caused.

Chaos was delighted that so much life, entire species! had been exitinguished and Wrath revelled in the fights that broke out between the survivors over the precious few resources that remained.

Now, some time later, a new species had evolved. One that was already suffering Wrath's whispers and Chaos' poisonings.

At first, it had been almost laughably easy. The race was almost eager to turn against one another, to end lives and, even better, ruin them. Greed, power and corruption became almost a part of daily life. Oh, it was glorious!

But the easiness quickly became dull. Chaos grew tired of how simple everything was. There was no delight in twisting something that was half twisted already.

And so came the challenge.

Chaos insisted that they could do just as much damage were they confined to the same limitations of those they toyed with. Wrath, forever incapable of anything less than rivalry with the other being, accepted the challenge.

And so they sought out vessels for themselves, bent themselves to fit into human shape and let themselves be born into the world as mortals.

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**So, what do you think? Good? Not good? Improvements?**

**This is essentially setting the scene. The other chapters will be longer. Much longer. Chapter 1's already four pages long and I'm not even halfway.**

**Feedback and comments much appreciated, thank you.**

**~EndlessMidnightSky~**


	2. Verona I

**Welcome to chapter 1. As promised, it is much longer than the prologue as will most, if not all of the other chapters be. Wrath and Chaos are still very much present, just less obvious and more... Mortal. I'm still experimenting with this whole idea and so please feel free to ask questions if there is any confusion.**

**First setting is Verona and the timeline of Shakespeare's Romeo and Juliet. Characters are not mine, nor is most of the dialogue except the last section. This story is un-betad so any mistakes are mine alone.**

**I hope you enjoy it.**

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Verona hadn't always been a torn city. Once it was a place of peace and harmony. The trade was good, quality of products often excelled expectations and the prices set were prosperous, but fair. People greeted each other in the streets with smiles and waved merrily while calling out to friends as they passed.

But all that had changed.

The two leading families, save the Prince himself, Montague and Capulet had a row, the cause of which no one living today could remember. But whatever had caused it, it must have been dire indeed for it sparked a feud that raged for generations.

From then on, Verona was a changed city. Within the fair walls, each member of each family and their respective servants stained the streets with blood and filled the air with cries and the clash of metal on metal at every ample opportunity. And opportunities were not scarce to arise.

The Prince struggled time and time again to force apart the foes and make temporary peace. But peace was never long lasting, no matter what threat was put in place against the combatants. It seemed that Verona was doomed to forever be trapped in a continuous brawl between the two families with the other citizens caught in the crossfire.

And yet, were you to ask any Veronian in the street who began the most fights, or blew on the spark most commonly they would name someone who was neither Montague nor Capulet.

Neither of them were.

If the feud between the two families was scarce quiet for more than a few days, it was a rare day at all when the sound of brash laughter and taunts was heard echoing off the walls, closely followed by shouts of anger, drawn swords and the sound of steel.

No one could deny that Mercutio was not entirely sane. He spun tales of witches, fae and wraiths so vividly and with such power that people whispered behind corners that he saw a world hidden in the shadows of night. That the supernatural world spoke to him in his dreams and came to him when he called. Some even speculated that he was one of them, and these old wives would cross themselves and pull their children close when the words began to weave a tale from his lips.

None could match his sharp wit, his cutting tongue slicing through any opponent just as deadly as his rapier. Many gave up after the first attempt and only fools returned for more.

Persistence however, was another matter. Out of all those challenged to a combat of minds by Mercutio, only three returned time after time. Of those three, two became his companions. The wit they now fought with was for recreation, teasing and taunting with bawdy jokes thrown in to make each other laugh.

Romeo and Benvolio Montague had never initially intended to befriend the strange youth, but they had been determined enough not to give up after Mercutio's initial battle of wit and after several more rounds, found themselves roped in by his tales of the Sidhe, Changelings and Queen Mab.

Within weeks they were close companions, often seen in each other's company either causing trouble, making fun of passers by and each other or the other two trying to distract Romeo from whomever he had fallen for that particular week.

The third person who returned to Mercutio's battles again and again, however, was a friend and companion by no description save that of mocking.

Tybalt was a Capulet in all but blood. The son of Lady Capulet's late brother, he had been taken in at a young age after a fire claimed his parents. Filled with bitterness and being surrounded by a family which was not his own, it was small wonder that his temper was constantly alight and just waiting for someone to blow on the spark.

More often than not, that someone was Mercutio.

Many people feared Tybalt's temper, not because it was so short, but for his skill with the rapier. He was a deadly swordsman, one of the best in Verona and he would not hesitate to cut an offender down to size were he so inclined.

And he often was.

He excelled in the fight. The blood and adrenaline roaring through him was the greatest thing he could ever feel and the sound of clashing swords, darting feet and desperate grunts from his opponent were so familiar, he could map out a fight just from the sounds

Mercutio, however, was different. Unlike many he fought with, the other youth was almost as skilled as he and had even won the odd battle between them. The challenge he possessed was one Tybalt could ne'er refuse and indeed he would seek him out if the other would not come to him first.

Mercutio had no qualms about breaking into the young man's anger and unleashing the furious fire within. He laughed as they fought while Tybalt's eyes blazed with anger, dark delight and a deep hunger to cause the older boy injury. To be the one to finally silence his tongue and hold him still.

~X~

The day began like any other. A market had been set up in the main square and the shouts of bartering, trading and haggling filled the air with cheerful vigour. Capulets and Montagues were wary of each other, keeping sights in their peripheral vision.

The set up was too perfect. Too light. There was tension, but no more than usual.

Two Capulet servants left a stall and one eyed a couple of Montague servants a few stores away while the other boasted his non-existent confidence with empty threats and desires.

The Montague boys, who went by Abraham and Balthazar, had not yet noticed their adversaries as they hunted for fresh fruit.

'Look you to the left,' whispered a voice.

Abraham whipped around in search of the speaker, but none were close enough. Haltingly, he turned to the left just in time to spy the wretched Capulet biting his thumb with a taunting glare.

The two Montagues stepped around the stall to confront the insulter.

'Do you bite your thumb at us, sir?' Abraham demanded, reaching for his rapier.

Doubt flickered in the Capulet's eyes and he lowered his thumb. Then he shook himself and stood up straighter.

'I do bite my thumb, sir,' he retorted, overconfidence thick in his tone.

Abraham shook his head. The stupidity! Any fool with eyes could see the action undertaken. But who had it been meant for?

'Do you bite your thumb at _us_, sir?' he repeated, stressing the key word in the hopes that the dimwit would finally understand.

A momentary panic flickered across the other servant's face and he turned to his companion who shook his head, eyes wide.

'No, sir, I do not bite my thumb at you, sir. But I do bite my thumb sir.'

Quiet laugher whispered at the desperate cover up, but was left unheard under to babble of the market.

'Do you quarrel, sir?' the other Capulet demanded, stepping forward with his hand on the hilt of his sword, ready to draw.

'Quarrel, sir? No, _sir_!' The title had become a mockery, a word Abraham spat through obvious insult.

'If you do, sir, I am for you! I serve as good a man as you.'

'You lie!'

'Draw if you be men!'

With a wild cry, all four drew their weapons and rushed at each other in a disorderly and untrained manner. Painfully obvious was the fact that these men were not prepared for true combat. The blows were sloppy, their defences weak. They were just as likely to strike their own companion as they were their foe.

'Part, fools!' The strong, confident tone of Benvolio cut through the rabble. 'Put up your swords! You know not what you do.'

He parted them with his own rapier, forcing them to retreat when strong footsteps sounded behind him.

'What? Art thou drawn? Turn thee, Benvolio, and look upon they death!'

Benvolio turned slowly, his weapon pointing down only to be met with sharp steel not six inches from his face. His eyes travelled along the rapier to the fiery Tybalt at the other end, blue eyes aflame

'I do but keep the peace,' Benvolio soothed, lowering his weapon further.

Tybalt did not change his position.

'Drawn, and talk of peace?' he snarled. 'I hate the word! As I hate Hell, all Montagues and thee. _Coward!_'

With this final insult, he lunged forward and Benvolio had no choice but to block the attack with his own sword. He pushed back, praying that Tybalt would not persist, but the taller man struck again and the peace that had so recently been evident descended into anarchy around them.

Montagues and Capulets drew against each other. Civilians either fled, tried to part the duellists or took sides in the fight. Battle cries of men, shouts of protest from the women and screams from the children warped together in a harmony of disorder with the clash of metal.

Many a time, Benvolio tried to escape the turmoil, but Tybalt was relentless and Benvolio found himself being pushed back further and further, forced continuously on the defensive.

Into the fray came the leaders of the warring households themselves, calling for their weapons while glaring at each other as if the battle could be won with stares alone.

Just when Benvolio felt his strength about to give as he fought to parry an overhead blow, an authoritive voice rang out through the square and everyone froze.

'Rebellious subjects!' Prince Escalus had arrived to restore order. 'Will they not hear? What, ho! You men, you _beasts_! On pain of torture, with those bloody hands throw your mistemper'd weapons to the ground and hear the sentence of your Prince. Three civil brawls have thrice disturb'd the quiet of our city. If you ever disturb our streets again, your lives shall pay the forfeit of the peace. For now, all the rest depart away. You, Capulet,' Here he turned to the middle aged Lord of the house. 'shall go along with me. And Montague, come you this afternoon. One more, on pain of death, all men depart!'

With this final dismissal, the crowds broke apart and stalked away from the battleground while those left behind attempted to salvage the market stalls and their cargo.

Tybalt was no such help and stormily began to wind his way home through the streets.

He did not get far.

'Good den, good Prince of Cats.'

Tybalt whipped around and looked up to find Mercutio sitting on a ledge with one leg up and one leg swinging down, grinning.

'Thou rogue, Mercutio!' he snapped. 'Taunt me from where I cannot reach? Art thou as much a coward as thy companion?'

If Tybalt had hoped to anger the other man, he was sorely disappointed as Mercutio laughed.

'Coward? Nay, I am no coward. The sun is pleasant on my skin and the distance between us lessens scent of brawl emanating from your good self.'

'Villain!' Tybalt reached up and tried to pull Mercutio off the wall by the leg swinging free, but Mercutio simply lifted his leg and placed it on the ledge beside the other.

'It would serve thee well if your reach was but a little longer.'

'It would serve me well if thou were dead and bleeding at my feet, slain by my hand!'

Another laugh.

'Aye, so thou dost insist. Yet here I am, alive and well after many of our banters.' He tilted his head to one side and looked down at Tybalt with mock thoughtfulness. 'I wonder if thou hast grown attached.'

'Attached? To a jester? I know thy mind is not sane, but here is a statement of pure madness.'

'Jester I may be, yet I am the catnip for your feline self. Thou hast had ample opportunity to kill me, yet Mercutio lives still. Wouldst thou have me gone? I think maybe thou would miss me.'

'Thy presumptions are far wide,' Tybalt snapped. 'What use could I have for thee? I would have your tongue cut out if it would silence thee before I drove cold steel through your bitter heart.'

At this, Mercutio pushed away from the wall and landed lightly a few feet away from his rival. His eyes glistened with anticipation and the two drew their swords in tandem.

'Well then, Prince of Cats, let us see what damage thou canst do me.'

'I am for you!'

They met in a frenzy of battle, swords clashing together and locking for a moment as the adversaries stared at each other with adrenaline and anticipation coursing through them.

Then Tybalt pushed the taller man back and struck again, only to be deflected and have to step aside to avoid Mercutio's blow.

Though nought but anger was displayed on Tybalt's expression, inside he was grinning with elation, feeling alive with the rush. The fight he'd had with Benvolio paled in comparison to this where he was actually at risk of losing were he not solely focused on Mercutio's movements. He parried an attack and swung his blade around to free the locked blades before lunging.

But Mercutio was prepared for the move and stepped back suddenly so Tybalt's own momentum worked against him, causing him to stumble. In that moment of unbalance, Mercutio slipped his blade into the ring of Tybalt's hilt and flicked it out of his hand.

Regaining his balance but now weaponless, Tybalt froze at the sword point not two inches from his throat.

'I win,' Mercutio declared, eyes alive in triumph. They were both breathing hard and one of Mercutio's dark locks had come undone from where it was normally pinned.

'Thou shalt not be so fortunate next time,' Tybalt growled, glaring at the victor.

'That, good sir, shall remain to be seen. For who knows under what circumstances we shall meet again in battle.'

There was a rare silence between them for a long moment as they regained their breath, then Mercutio withdrew his sword and sheathed it by his side.

'Unless, of course, thou doest plan to engage me at thy Uncle's party this night.' As he spoke, the familiar grin spread across Mercutio's face and his eyes glinted with mischief.

Tybalt's eyes flashed. Mercutio's grin grew wider.

'Thou art not welcome!'

'Ah, but that as where thou art mistaken, Tybalt. I am very much welcome. Invited in fact. Both myself and my good brother, Valentine, shall hence be there tonight, despite thy complaints.'

'Thou darest invade the privacy of my family's home?'

'But t'is not thy true family, is it?'

At this, Tybalt's gaze filled with red.

'Get thee gone, villain! Less my hand force thee to remain forever on these streets!'

Mercutio laughed and bounded away, only calling over his shoulder once before vanishing around a corner.

'I shall catch thee later, Prince of Cats, with or without thy consent.'

'Thou shalt not,' Tybalt said quietly to himself, retrieving his blade and re-sheathing it in one sharp movement.

'But I shall catch thee.'

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**Keep an eye on that last exchange...**

**Ok, so I'm fairly sure this setting is going to be told in two parts. Possibly three, but we'll see how we go. Shakesperian language is hard to get right so I'm hoping I managed it ok. Next instalment will be up soon.**

**How am I doing? Feedback, both good and bad (but no flames) is always appreciated so I know what's good and what needs improving.**

**~EndlessMidnightSky~**


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